Page 12 of Shattered Oath
Couldn't I?
3ISABELLE
Femi tookme to a restaurant I'd never heard of.
That was saying something. I made it a point to know every worthwhile dining spot in this city. My clients expected recommendations. My reputation demanded taste. But this place was tucked into a Mayfair side street I’d never noticed before, with no sign on the door. Just a brass number17and a doorman who nodded at Femi like they'd known each other for years.
"Secret restaurant?" I raised an eyebrow as we stepped inside. "Very mysterious of you."
"I do try." His voice carried that slight tease, that warmth that made everything sound like a private joke between us.
The space opened up into something unexpected. Exposed stone walls, candlelight, tables spaced far enough apart that you could forget anyone else existed. It smelled incredible inside. Rosemary and thyme. Something slow-roasting that made my mouth water. Bread fresh from the oven, still steaming.
"Mr. Davies." A maître d' appeared from nowhere, all warm smiles and European efficiency. "Your usual table is ready. And Miss..." She glanced at me, waiting.
"Dubois," Femi supplied smoothly, his hand finding the small of my back. "She's with me."
The maître d's smile widened. "Of course. Right this way, please."
We followed her through the restaurant, acutely aware of Femi's hand on my back, burning through the fabric of my dress.
We arrived at a corner booth, the best table in the house, naturally. Tucked away but with a perfect view of the entire restaurant. Private but not hidden.
I tried not to be impressed and failed spectacularly. "You have a usual table at a restaurant with no sign."
"I've been coming here for three years." He pulled out my chair, waiting with old-fashioned courtesy until I sat before taking his own seat across from me. "Old habits. The owner's a mate from university. He doesn't advertise because he doesn't need to. Word of mouth keeps this place booked solid six months out."
"You brought other women here?" The question came out before I could stop it, sharper than I'd intended.
"Jealous?" His eyes glinted with amusement in the candlelight.
I shrugged, aiming for casualness. "Curious."
He leaned back, studying me with that particular intensity that made me feel like I was the most interesting thing he'd seen all day. "A few. None of them lasted past the second date."
"What happened on the second date?"
"They asked too many questions." His eyes crinkled. "You, on the other hand? I rather like you interrogating me."
"Someone has to keep you honest."
"And you've always been so good at that." His words carried weight. We both knew what he was really saying, that I'd been the only one who'd ever challenged him, who'd refused to let him charm his way out of difficult conversations.
A waiter materialized beside our table with menus. Femi waved his away without looking. "The tasting menu. For both of us." He glanced at me. "Unless you'd prefer to choose yourself?"
"You seem to have it handled."
"I do." He leaned back, studying me. Like I was a problem he enjoyed solving. "You look beautiful tonight, by the way. I should have said that earlier."
"You were too busy being mysterious."
"I was building anticipation, yeah?" His accent got slightly thicker when he was relaxed, I noticed. More Nigerian rhythms creeping into the British polish. "Setting the mood and all that."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
He laughed. God, that laugh. It hadn't changed at all. The sound of it did something to me, something I'd been trying very hard to ignore. It made me remember other times he'd laughed like that. In bed, mostly.
I picked up my wine glass and drank to cover my reaction.
